


Howling at the Moon

by brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly



Series: House of Wolves [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, sorry - Freeform, this got a little angstier than i meant it to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:34:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8938159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly/pseuds/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly
Summary: Bucky should probably stop talking, Steve feels gross, Sam gets protective.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This took longer than I'd planned! Sorry about that! But hopefully you'll like part 3, and with a whole lot of luck and motivation (ha!) part 4 will be up soon.

“Am I okay? Are you seriously asking me that right now?” Steve demands.

Steve is pissy, and Bucky can't say he blames the guy. The last few weeks have probably sucked, what with him transitioning into a mythical creature after one--mostly--innocent kiss. There’s never a good way of breaking that to someone, and after being utterly disbelieving, and then frightened into unconsciousness, it’s safe to say that Steve’s day could be going better.

So, to be fair, it's a spectacularly stupid question, one Bucky should've known better than to ask.

That seems to characterise most of Bucky’s interactions with Steve.

_Should’ve known better._

Ignoring the snickering behind him-- _fuckin’ Stark_ \--Bucky attempts the whole _think before you speak_ thing. He doesn’t have high hopes, but what the hell, right?

“I, uh, I took your shoes off. So you’d be more comfortable.”

Yeah, that’s not much better. Steve gives him a disbelieving look while behind Bucky, he can hear Natasha muttering something in Russian. Tony’s guffaws quickly morph into a high-pitched yelp of pain, likely courtesy of a pointy toed shoe in his shin.

Jesus Christ. Maybe Bucky should give up on the whole talking thing.

“Thanks,” Steve says after a moment. “That was nice of you.” Another brief pause, during which time Bucky can actually _feel_ his cheeks turning red. “D’you think you could get ‘em for me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can totally do that.”

Hurrying out to grab Steve’s shoes from where he’d left them, Bucky uses the brief respite to wonder what the hell is wrong with him. Seriously, it’s one thing to be a little awkward around a guy he likes, but this is friggin’ ridiculous.

Forget the werewolf thing, if he keeps spewing stupid all over Steve, he’ll be lucky if he isn’t slapped with a restraining order.

By the time he gets back, Steve is leaning against the wall opposite Tony and Natasha, eyeing them both distrustfully. His gaze immediately jumps to Bucky, and his stance relaxes ever so slightly.

Bucky feels both relieved and guilty that he’s being considered the lesser of the two evils at this point.

“Hey, Buck, d’you think you could do me a favour?” Steve asks, reaching out to take his sneakers.

“Of course,” Bucky agrees quickly. “Whatever you want.”

For the first time since he woke up, Steve smiles. It does something stupid to Bucky’s heart.

“Could you gimme a ride home? I’m not really feelin’ up to the subway.”

But before Bucky can answer, Natasha interrupts.

“It's not a good idea for you to be on your own during this part of your transition,” she says seriously. “Complications may arise and, trust me, they're not something you want to deal with on your own.”

That goes over like a lead balloon. Steve scowls fiercely; Nat doesn’t even blink.

“I’ll be fine,” Steve says through clenched teeth.

Shit. Bucky presses his lips together as memories of his own transformation flash through his head. He was a big guy, strong and fit, and the change had almost killed him. The idea of Steve experiencing the same thing is enough to make Bucky nauseous.

“Maybe you should listen to her,” Bucky murmurs.

“Not maybe,” Tony adds, being sensible for once.

“Okay, no offense,” Steve begins, in a tone that suggests that he doesn’t actually give a damn if he offends them or not. “But it really isn’t any of your business.” He gestures at Natasha and Tony before aiming a glare at Bucky. “And if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this damn mess.”

Bucky winces, even though he knows it’s true. But this is too important for him to fudge on just because he feels guilty.

“You’re right,” he admits quietly, holding Steve’s gaze. “But the transition is _rough._ You could die.”

He’s more blunt than he’d planned on being, and he hates the way Steve’s eyes widen as he realises that Bucky’s serious. Neither Tony nor Natasha make to interfere in the staring contest, waiting for someone to look away.

Finally, Steve relents.

“But I wanna stay at my apartment,” he says firmly. “That’s non-negotiable.”

“Fine,” Nat agrees. “But so long as one of us is with you.” Steve opens his mouth to argue, but stops before saying anything at the sight of Natasha’s raised eyebrow. “We’re doing this to protect you, Steve,” she says gently. “No one should have to go through this alone.”

Steve smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s clear he’s unhappy about this.

They leave a few minutes later, both Bucky and Steve subdued. Tony had given them strict instructions about what Steve should be eating--steak, as rare as he could stand it--and recommended getting as much rest and fluids as possible.

“I’m a vegan,” Steve had protested, expression horrified. It’d seemed like the first thing he could think of to say. Bucky had had to stifle a groan. Because _of course,_ Steve was a vegan.

And of course, Tony had to be an asshole about that.

“Look, wander ‘round your apartment in your boxers, and Barnes will take care of it, no problem,” he’d replied, waving a hand dismissively.

“Vegan, not virgin, asshole,” Bucky had snapped. And then, not satisfied with the verbal abuse, he’d reached out to smack Tony upside the head.

It’d been worth it; Steve had laughed.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Neither of them are laughing now, though. They make a brief stop at some fancy restaurant Tony had recommended, and ask for a takeout. Almost as soon as the words had passed Bucky’s lips, he’d known they were going to get kicked out.

But before the maitre’d could start screaming or pass out, Steve had uttered the magic words.

“We’re friends of Tony Stark.”

And just like that, they were ushered into the restaurant to wait.

“I know this is a stupid question,” Bucky begins hesitantly. “But… are you… okay? Like… I just wanna know where your head’s at.”

“Y’know, I think it could be worse,” Steve says thoughtfully. At Bucky’s surprised expression, he rolls his eyes. “Look, I’m not _fine_. I’m tryin’ really fuckin’ hard not to freak out. But…” He blows out a tired breath. “I’ll deal, just like I always do.”

Guilt leaves a bitter taste in Bucky’s mouth.

“You must hate my guts.”

“Pffft,” Steve scoffs. “That’d make things easier, wouldn’t it?”

Silence settles between them again, and Bucky hates it.

It abruptly occurs to him how vulnerable Steve must be feeling right now. His body’s doing all kinds of weird shit, poor guy can’t sleep, there are strangers telling him that he’s gonna turn into a goddamn werewolf…

Any semblance of control’s been ripped from Steve’s hands.

“I transitioned by myself,” he murmurs after a few minutes.

Steve looks up sharply. He doesn’t say anything, simply stares at Bucky intently. Taking that as permission to continue, Bucky allows his mind to drift back to those six weeks, easily the worst of his life.

“Thought I was losing my mind. My family was freakin’ out. They thought I was trippin’.”

“How bad was it?” Steve asks quietly.

“Awful. In the beginning, I was just… sick, y’know? And God, I thought I was gonna claw outta my skin.”

Reflexively, Steve scratches at the skin of his wrist; Bucky notices that it’s red and raw. He knows he shouldn’t, he has no right… but Bucky slowly reaches out to touch him. Steve allows the contact, and it’s like taking a breath of fresh air after being trapped under water.

“It got worse, though,” Bucky continues. He pulls away, self-loathing piercing the fragile bubble of happiness. “I… got aggressive. My dad, he wanted to take me to rehab. Thought I was goin’ through withdrawl.” Dropping his eyes down to his lap, Bucky can’t look at Steve as he confesses, “I attacked him. If my little sister hadn’t been there, I…” Bucky releases a shaky breath, and he can’t continue. The weight of Steve’s gaze resting heavily on him.

“Buck, I--”

“Two fillets, medium rare,” a lofty voice interrupts.

“Yeah, that’s us,” Bucky says hastily, shoving his emotions aside.

“Obviously,” the maitre’d answers. His lip is curled with disdain as he offers them two glass containers. “We did not have... paper bags,” he adds when he notices their questioning stares.

Snooty asshole.

“Thanks. We’ll make sure to get them back to you,” Steve says. Then, with a smirk, he pushes away from the table, making sure to scrape his chair loudly against the beautifully tiled floor. The maitre’d winces visibly. “Have a nice evening.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Steve’s apartment is messier than Bucky remembers it being. The place is littered with crumpled up bits of paper, discarded books, and empty mugs. Sleep had obviously been elusive.

“Damn it,” Steve mutters as he steps in. Casting Bucky a cagey look, he makes a beeline for the papers, snatching them up.

“Hey, you don’t need to--” Bucky tries, but Steve isn’t paying him any attention.

Letting out a soft sigh, Bucky figures he might as well help.

His fingers have barely grazed the nearest piece of paper when Steve lets out what can only be described as a squawk.

“Don’t touch that,” he snaps. Moving faster than he ought to be able to, Steve is in front of Bucky, grabbing the page before Bucky can so much as blink.

Okay… that’s… _weird._

Could the transition be moving along faster than they’d anticipated?

“Are you okay?” he asks hesitantly.

“You ask that a lot,” Steve mutters, holding his papers close to his chest like Gollum with the Ring. “Do me a favour, huh? Grab us some plates while I, uh, tidy up ‘round here.”

“That’s what I was tryin’ to tell you just now,” Bucky says patiently. “You don’t need to tidy up just ‘cause I’m here.”

“My Ma would turn in her grave if she could see this place.” For a second, Steve’s expression grows sad, and Bucky feels a corresponding pang in his chest. “Well, what you waitin’ for?” Steve asks gruffly, ducking his head to hide his face. “Make yourself useful.”

“Bossy,” Bucky teases. Still, he does as he's told, turning around and heading for the kitchen. He doesn't need Steve to tell him where to find the plates. There are only three tiny cupboards, one with cups and mugs, the other with boxes of cereal and an unopened packet of Doritos, and the last with a few chipped plates.

While he dishes up, he listens to the sounds of Steve moving around in the living room. Every now and again, Bucky hears swearing.

Finally, Steve emerges, balled up bits of paper cradled in his arms. Keeping his gaze averted, he dumps them all in the trash. Bucky thinks he hears a relieved sigh.

“Gettin’ rid of the evidence?” Bucky asks teasingly.

Steve's eyes widen comically, and he begins stuttering out an answer.

“I don't--That’s not--” He shakes his head as though to clear it of the clutter. “Let's just eat, ‘kay?”

There's a beat of silence as Steve's cheeks grow steadily more red.

“You're kinda weird, y’know that?” Bucky comments. “I like it.”

“Shut up,” Steve mumbles half-heartedly. By this point, he looks like a Christmas bauble. When Bucky just grins at him, he rolls his eyes and steals one of Bucky's pan fried potatoes in retaliation.

And for a few minutes, it's easy to forget about the whole werewolf thing.

It doesn't last.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Somehow, Bucky had forgotten how bad the transition can be. Maybe the pain had dulled the memories, cloaking it all in a red haze. So whenever he thought back to the event, he'd remember pain and bloodlust and not much else.

Watching Steve go through it is it's own kind of agony.

While most of the weekend had passed without major incident, Sunday night had been a nightmare as the change kicked into high gear. Steve's skin had become unbearably sensitive, his gums and teeth were aching, and his muscles had started spamming without rhyme or reason.

And there was nothing Bucky could do except make sure Steve didn't hurt himself.

Things haven't improved by Tuesday morning. Bucky had missed work the previous day, refusing Tony and Natasha’s offers to sit in with Steve. This was his goddamn fault, the least he can do is suffer through it with Steve.

But Natasha has other plans.

She arrives at nine, a laptop bag slung over her right shoulder, a grocery bag in her left hand.

“You're going to work,” she announces as soon as he opens the door.

“Forget it.” Impulsively, he tries to shut it in her face, but she's too quick; her foot’s in the way almost immediately.

“Come on, Barnes, don't be stubborn.” Shouldering her way passed him without invitation, she heads for the kitchen to put down the groceries. “Where is he?” Not waiting for an answer, she takes a quick whiff of the air. “In the bedroom, good.” She's messing around with the coffee pot now, already making herself at home. “Look, Bucky, you need some distance.”

“The hell I do,” Bucky snaps. “Steve needs someone here to take care of him.”

“Why do you think I'm here? This isn't a social call. I'm here to help.”

Bucky clenches his jaw to keep a caustic reply at bay.

“Besides,” Nat adds in a businesslike voice. “Sam Wilson is asking questions. Apparently Steve hasn't answered any of his texts, and what with your not coming to work yesterday, Sam is… concerned.”

“Concerned?” Bucky repeats incredulously. “The hell does that mean?”

“It means that he's worried you might have hurt his friend.” When Bucky’s eyes start bugging out of his head, Natasha decides to elaborate. “Steve mentioned that you told him that you're a werewolf. Most reasonable people assume that that's kind of a warning sign that prospective love interests aren't playing with a full deck.”

The last thing Bucky wants to do is go to work, but Natasha has a point. And the last thing they need is more attention; Stark gets them all enough as it is.

It's with that in mind that Bucky quietly slips into Steve's room to say goodbye.

“Stevie?” he whispers, lowering himself into a crouch before the bed. Laying on the stripped mattress in nothing but a pair of boxers, Steve is the picture of misery, an occasional shiver racing over him.

“Yeah?” Steve croaks.

“I need to head to work, but just for a couple hours, okay? Nat’s gonna stay with you.”

“Who--? Oh, your girlfriend.”

“She's not my girlfriend, smartass.” Still, despite his words, Bucky reaches out to smooth Steve’s hair away from his brow; Steve leans into the touch.

“Go. I'll see you whenever.”

“Later this afternoon,” Bucky corrects. “But… only if you're okay with me being here,” he adds, suddenly worried.

Jeez, what if he's just been parking his ass here, while Steve can't wait for a chance to throw him out? And what if--

“Course I want you here,” Steve whispers. “You… brighten the place up.”

Bucky gets that stupid fluttery feeling again, the one that only ever seems to happen around Steve. God, he's got it so bad for this guy.

Resisting the urge to press a soft kiss to Steve's lips, Bucky reluctantly gets to his feet.

“If you need anything, Nat’s right there in the living room.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you can call me on my cell whenever you want.”

“Buck. Seriously. Go to work.”

Scowling at being called out like this, Bucky forces himself to leave the room.

_Today is gonna suck._

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He’s just been called in to see his manager for yelling at one of his colleagues. For the third time in less five hours.

_Not my fault I work with a bunch of friggin’ idiots._

They’re goddamn lucky he didn’t _literally_ bite someone’s head off.

And because these last few days have just been one continuous suck fest--and not in a fun way--it’s as Bucky is leaving Pepper Potts’ office that he comes face to face with Sam Wilson.

 _Oh, this is just_ great.

“Hey, man,” Sam greets. “You mind if we talk?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Bucky mutters, trying to sidestep the other man.

Sam’s not having it.

“Okay, maybe I should I should try that again. We _need_ to talk.”

Unphased by Bucky’s glare, Sam takes him by the arm, towing him towards a more secluded part of the building, which happens to be the fire escape.

 _I could kill him an’ no one would ever know,_ Bucky muses sourly.

“Where’s Steve?” Sam demands. “Did you hurt him? I swear to God, if you did--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Bucky interrupts, holding up his hands. “What the hell are you talkin’ about? I’d never hurt Steve.” At least, not in any way that didn’t involve inadvertently turning him into a werewolf.

But Sam doesn’t need to know that.

“Uh, ‘cause you kissed him?” Sam snaps, glaring at Bucky. “An’ you bit him? Which is fuckin’ weird. I mean, who the hell bites someone during a game of spin the bottle?”

_A valid question._

“An’ if that shit ain’t bizarre enough,” Sam continues, really getting into stride now. “You rock up at his apartment--unannounced--to tell him you mighta turned him into a werewolf. So, yeah, I’m a little concerned.”

Yeah, okay, it sounds bad when Sam puts it _like that._

Still, Bucky can’t be too mad at Sam, even with the other guy chewing his ass out. He’s a good friend, one who’s worried about Steve. It’s with that in mind that Bucky relents.

“You’re right,” he agrees. “Things may have started out a little… unorthodox.” _Understatement._ “But I’ve been trying to make it up to him.” _And probably failing._ “We went out the other night, but Steve got sick. Stomach flu.” _Which, but for a few minor details, is more or less what happened._

Judging by the look on Sam’s face, _more or less_ isn't going to cut it.

“Look, I get that you’re just lookin’ out for Steve, an’ I appreciate it. But I really, _really_ like him. I would never hurt him.”

Sam cocks his head, staring at Bucky with eyes that see far more than he’s comfortable with. It’s just as Bucky’s starting to freak out a little-- _Jesus, do telepaths exist?_ \--that Sam nods.

“Y’know, that’s probably the most honest you’ve been with me since we started talkin’.” He smiles, and there’s a hint of warmth there. “Maybe try startin’ with that next time, huh?”

He reaches out then to clap Bucky on the shoulder, hard enough that it almost has Bucky biting his tongue. The friendly light has faded from Sam’s eyes now, although his grin remains in place. Somehow, the expression reminds Bucky of a wolf baring its teeth.

“Don’t fuck this up, you hear?”

And with that, Sam saunters away, leaving Bucky to stare after him.

Belatedly, it occurs to Bucky that he might’ve been the one who’d just escaped getting his ass kicked.

_Huh._

_Maybe Sam’s not as bad as I thought._


End file.
